This doesn't mean anything
by Acalanthis
Summary: Azureshipping A story about Seto Kaiba, Anzu Mazaki and something that doesn't mean anything. At first, that is. Now complete after a 3 year hiatus. Many apologies and thanks to all who have read and enjoyed.
1. A Kodak Moment

**Disclaimer: **I do not own or claim to own Yu-Gi-Oh! Or any characters and situations presented in the manga/anime. No profit is gained from the publishing of this story, no copyright infringement intended.

Should this story be deemed offensive by the creator, Mr. Takahashi, his solicitors or any of the (unsettling amount of) companies holding licenses to the series it shall be of course taken down without hesitation.

**A/N:** This was written during the last two weeks when work was too much for me and I needed a way to vent during breaks. For some reason the phrase "This doesn't mean anything" rang in my head and wouldn't go away. I'll stop boring you with my mindless blabber now and instead let you read the product of stress and persistent phrases.

Don't forget: any form of constructive criticism is highly welcomed and shall be cherished.

And before I forget it: this, my hearties, is Azureshipping (Anzu & Seto – how I love flaunting new vocabulary!), so if you don't like that couple, I suggest you read something else.

* * *

**This doesn't mean anything – A Kodak Moment**

Icy blue eyes lock with warm, unblinking sapphire ones. Is he trying to stare her down?

A frown.

"I'm not going to apologize."

Yes, he is.

_He's doing a pretty good job of it, too._

"I'm not expecting you to."

A pause.

"I'm not going to say thank you, either."

Her response are a careless shrug and a smile; simply dazzling.

"Suit yourself."

Hesitation. He doesn't want her to know how nervous this - the situation, her looking at him like that and what they are about to do - makes him. He's _never_ nervous.

"This doesn't mean anything. Do you understand?"

"Absolutely."

The smile widens and morphs from dazzling to blinding. How can she smile like that at someone like him? Her eyes sparkle with mischief.

_She isn't looking forward to this, is she?_

A crooked eyebrow.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing."

Her voice sounds innocent – tauntingly so. A snarl. He knew he'd regret having asked her. If only his choices hadn't been so limited. No, if only he had _had_ actual choices.

"You're not taking me serious."

"Of course I am."

"Then why are you smiling?"

"Because I know something you don't."

_I know you're nervous…_

"Which would be?"

Another shrug. Since when has carelessness been this elegant? Moreover, since when did he associate elegance with her? But then he remembers that he always has and he frowns again. He seems to be doing that a lot when she is in the vicinity.

"Well?"

"You don't want to know."

"I don't?"

She smiles mysteriously and now he's really curious. He wants to cover it up, but the fact that he questions her judgment betrays the aloofness he displays.

"What makes you think that?"

"Because it's unimportant."

Silence.

"Besides, it doesn't mean anything, just as you said."

"Oh."

She fiddles with the hem of her skirt and he finds his eyes drawn to where the navy fabric ends. The skirt is decent - knee-length. There are so many schools nowadays that have inanely short skirts as part of their uniform, but theirs doesn't. Still the sight of her skirt makes his heart jump, if only a little.

Foot tapping.

"Well?"

This time it's her eyes that seek out his. Demanding. What the... that's **his **trademark stare she's using right now!

"You're mocking me!"

His accusing growl is met by a tender smile.

"We've already established that I don't."

_But I want you to_, he thinks. _At least then I'd have a reason not to go through with this stupid, stupid idea._

He balls the hand in his pocket into a fist, then lets go again; his equivalent of a sigh. They're running in circles, wasting precious time. He'd never admit it but he knows it's his fault. Why does she seem so comfortable in his presence? She should be squirming, stuttering, faltering. Why wouldn't she at least blush? He decides he must have lost his bite somewhere during the conversation, brief as it was.

_This has to end. _

He takes a couple of well-measured steps, coming to a halt before her. She tilts her head to meet his towering gaze. He wonders how an outsider would look upon this scene: the two of them standing together like this, a girl and a boy (in the privacy of his mind he feels safe to admit that _right now_, he feels each and every one of his 17 years, possibly even less but certainly no more), close enough that their breath mingles, their eyes locked. His hand twitches ever so slightly with his desire to touch - embrace her. A rosy blush begins to bloom across her features.

_Finally. _

Would an outsider mistake them for lovers? He concedes that if he were to walk upon a similar scene, he would. It makes him infinitely grateful for his foresight to have chosen this place to meet, as opposed to school or his office, least of all because of the talk.

_And I have no interest whatsoever in_ that _kind of talk._

She looks at him as if to challenge him. As if he had any reason to be scared of her. Maybe he ought to tell her that he didn't believe in cooties (anymore).

"Are you ready?"

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips in response. Her throat feels so dry all of a sudden but she insists on telling herself that the heat waves taking a hold over her body are not caused by the fact that their chests are almost touching. The scent of him is overwhelming. He's one of the few boys - or men? - she knows that doesn't seem to bath in his cologne. He's wearing one of those popular woodsy and fresh, clean fragrances. She knows enough about perfumes to know that what is making her knees weak right now are the core substances of the fragrance and not his overwhelming presence.

_He must have put it on in the morning_, she thinks and wishes for a moment she could have been there to watch him perform this simple, intimate act. Liquid heat pools in the pit of her stomach. Perhaps it would be better to safe thoughts like that for a different time and place (for instance somewhere far, far away from Seto Kaiba). Why had she agreed to this? Remaining focused starts to become quite the task. His intense gaze sets her on fire.

_Maybe... if only I... there's still time to back out, right?_

His lips swoop down on hers like a bird of prey, her hand latching onto his arm for support. Not a chance to back out now, their whispered conversation momentarily forgotten. She decides that Seto Kaiba's kisses can easily melt the pole caps, despite him being a walking-talking human Popsicle. One hand untangles from his pocket and both of his arms hook around her waist, pulling her closer as she revels in the feeling of his lips pressed against hers. She doesn't know what possesses her, but she feels her body pushing itself up on her toes while her other hand cradles his face. She is surprised to find him lean into her touch ever so slightly.

He finds himself enjoying the taste of her lips and the feel of her in his arms very much. Too much, he decides, and breaks the kiss. His gaze drops to her face. She looks a bit dazed and her eyes are half closed as her lips seem to mourn the loss of his. He frowns. She's beautiful (which is very important right now for reasons he can't grasp) but she doesn't look thoroughly kissed at all.

_This is unacceptable, _he thinks and touches his lips to hers again and for the time being, he forgets that this is them - that they share a mutual history that ought to make something like this kiss ( _these kisses - it's our second, _he corrects himself) impossible.

Experimentally, he leans further into her. He's only ever kissed his brother (and his parents, a long time ago) - but not like that. He doesn't know what to do, but it appears that she does. He wonders how many other boys she's kissed like that as the hand cupping his face slides up to tangle in his hair while the one on his arm moves to press against his back. The feeling of her nibbling on his lower lip is foreign yet strangely pleasurable.

_Did she ever kiss Yugi like that?_

The thought that she might have angers him (it's a matter of principle - he is not the kind of man to enjoy anyone's hand-me-downs - especially not those of his rival). He's panting slightly as he pulls way from her - whether from his rage or their kisses he cannot tell - determined to make their third kiss a mind-blowing experience.

_Right after I catch my breath..._

"That will be enough, I believe."

He looks up sharply. His personal assistant nods her head and the photographer he'd hired seems quite satisfied. He takes a step backwards (feeling much colder than before), raising a questioning eyebrow at their audience.

"A lovely motive. Once these have been published I don't think you will have to worry about tabloids discussing your sexual orientation anymore. At least not for the time being. I can only advise you to not keep this a one-time occurance, however, if only to ensure success. It would be good for you to be seen once or twice during your leisure time before you 'split up'."

He inclines his head to show that he will think about it then looks at her. She's even more beautiful now that her lips are bruised from his kisses. Her hair is slightly mussed from him running his hands through it ( _when did I do that?_) and her darkened eyes sparkle with some hidden emotion that he longs to examine.

He admits to himself that maybe Anzu Mazaki wasn't the worst choice after all.

Their entourage begins to pack up and he pulls an envelope out of his pocket, offering it to her. She sighs and reluctantly takes it.

_Why? This was our deal _.

"This doesn't mean anything," he says, more for his own benefit than hers.

"Of course not," she replies. But her voice is timid, weak even. As if it pains her to say the words.

There's a twisting sensation in his stomach. Something he hasn't felt in a long time. Remorse?

_Great._

He clenches his hands into shaking fists then unclenches them again; his equivalent of a deep sigh and hanging shoulders.

She turns to leave and his hand shoots out to grab her arm.

"I didn't mean to cause you any inconvenience."

Her eyes widen in surprise.

"And I appreciate your help... Anzu."

* * *

A/N 2 (2006-08-19): I noticed that for one, my author's note had been messed up and for another, I hadn't included the chapter title in the uploaded document which was terribly smart of me, wasn't it?

Thank you to all who have reviewed so far and to everyone who put this story (or me, respectively) on their favorite's list. It means the world to me.


	2. Aftermath Part I

**Disclaimer:** I do not own or claim to own Yu-Gi-Oh! Or any characters and situations presented in the manga/anime. No profit is gained from the publishing of this story, no copyright infringement intended. 

Should this story be deemed offensive by the creator, Mr. Takahashi, his solicitors or any of the (unsettling amount of) companies holding licenses to the series it shall be of course taken down without hesitation.

A/N: Well, here it is: the next update. Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed this story and/or added it (or me respectively) to their favorites. You're awesome!

* * *

**This doesn't mean anything – Aftermath; An Interlude**

**Part One - Seto**

My first kiss, which I took from her of all people, sold out to the tabloids as if it were nothing special. Which it isn't, isn't it? It is just a kiss, only lips pressed against lips, not something that is painfully intimate. It wasn't even a real kiss; there was no emotion behind it; no love or sympathy either. It was paid for, a service, nothing else. Something I bought with my money, and considering how much I paid for it it's not worth much.

Then why does it bother me so that all of Domino (probably all of Japan) may see now with their own eyes what I arranged for them to see? What is this twisting sensation that I feel that makes me want to tear out the image of her in my arms, our lips pressed together, from every paper placed before me? Why does it bother me that this is nothing that I can cherish?

_He is so preoccupied with his anger for not being able to treasure this single memory that he completely ignores the nagging feeling in his gut that ever so persistently keeps wanting to know why exactly he would want to cherish something as unimportant as a kiss taken from the lips of  
Anzu Mazaki._

My first kiss, sacrificed on the altar of Vanity and Greed.

It was my fear of how the public eye would perceive me, my company and all that I've worked for, that made me fall into Vanity's trap. It was my hunger for success and appreciation that led me into Greed's.

But isn't this pointless? How much did I sacrifice already; how much did I endure to arrive at the point in life where I am now? How much more to stay there?

I'm used to it by now.

_He is not; although he puts quite an effort into trying to make himself believe that he is. _

_He is human; he aches, just as everyone else does. _

_He feels cold and heat but he pretends that they cannot touch him._

_He feels anger and despair, sometimes even fear, he knows the meaning of pain, knows hope when he sees it, knows hate as well as the back of his hand._

_He even knows love, which is a tiny flame in his heart, the only source of warmth he has left, and he guards it well like the precious treasure it is, nourishes it as well as he can, lest the flame should perish, __never to be rekindled again._

_But he pushes these feelings aside, ignores the confusing multitude of emotions that is tugging on his sleeves, begging for his attention._

_He is a child, shouldering the burden of a man._

_He doesn't falter under its weight, doesn't stumble or slouch._

_But part of him – firmly locked away with all those silly notions of love and happiness, planted into his fragile and defenseless little heart by those that gave him life so many years ago – wishes he would, wishes for someone to take the burden, if only a little of it, and help him to carry it._

She haunts me.

Whenever I close my eyes, I see her face, moments before I bent over to kiss her for the first time. Who painted her portrait to the inside of my eyelids? Why does she seem so alluring all of a sudden? At nights, when I am about to fall asleep, I can feel the ghost of her lips pressed against mine and white hot flames run through my veins, setting my body on fire.

They rob me of my sleep, she and that burning sensation that her memory causes.

_He has the world convinced that his blood runs colder than ice water._

_It doesn't._

_He is a red blooded male._

_He can identify the heat keeping him awake at night, knows its real name, _

_but he doesn't dare to speak it, not even in his mind for fear that the simple act of naming it might make the emotion real, __which it mustn't be. _

_This doesn't mean anything._

I listen to my public relations manager going on and on about how this little shot of me and my 'girlfriend' improved my image already. How much it will improve if we can deliver even more. I want to tell him that there won't be any more pictures of me, not like that, but my tongue doesn't obey me and instead I ask him what he would suggest.

My question pleases him (I've never had much interest for public relations to begin with) and he spreads out several sheets before me. He's actually gone through the trouble of charting the possible success of different scenarios as well as writing scripts for me, general guidelines as to what ought to take place during those carefully crafted scenarios of his.

He calls them 'dates'.

I start to leaf through the charts and scripts. If I do any of this, it won't mean anything; I find it annoying that I have to keep reminding myself of that.

_He doesn't question why the meaninglessness of these plans bothers him._

_It just does._

Several 'dates' are rejected.

I don't plan on bringing her flowers or little gifts to school, nor will I ever ask her to spend lunch break with me or walk her home from classes. I won't endure the company of the imbeciles she calls 'friends' for longer than necessary, either and I will not allow Mokuba to be involved in this.

_This doesn't mean anything._

I cannot afford to waste my time like that; I have a company to run, a little brother to take care of.

But a handful of 'dates' is acceptable and my personal assistant, Ryoko Araide, agrees. All are within plain sight of the public eye; more than enough (willing) chaperones than I'd ever need.

Now all I have to do is… ask her for a date.

_And surprisingly, although it doesn't mean anything, he's looking forward to it._


	3. In good company

**Disclaimer: **I do not own or claim to own Yu-Gi-Oh! Or any characters and situations presented in the manga/anime. No profit is gained from the publishing of this story, no copyright infringement intended.

Should this story be deemed offensive by the creator, Mr. Takahashi, his solicitors or any of the (unsettling amount of) companies holding licenses to the series it shall be of course taken down without hesitation.

**A/N: **There we go… the next installment. It might be prudent to warn you: this story won't be very long (currently it looks like there will be 6 chapters and 4 interludes, possibly an epilogue, too, but not too sure about that) and no chapter will be longer than 1,500 words, at least not if I can help it.

I'm also a bit… err… at a loss for words, kind of. Some of the authors I personally admire for their writing skill have read this and… some of them put this story on their favorites list and some of them left me a review. So now I am… really… flustered I guess you could say. This is like… woah (yes, very articulate of me, I know).

Anyway, I hope that you guys will like this chapter (if only a little) and perhaps let me know by leaving a review.

Thanks bunches, cookies for all and much much love

Acalanthis

PS – Someone said that they expected the next interlude to be Anzu's point of view. I won't tell you whose it'll be but I can tell you it's not her. In fact you won't be seeing Anzu's point of view for a long time. (Well for nearly as long as this story will be.)

**A/N 2:** It's kinda funny… I can read my chapters out loud as often as I want to; I can print it and read it over and over again and not find a single mistake. And only AFTER the chapter is published I seem to find tons of them! This is so not fair!

So this chapter, too, has been revised and fixed for errors and I sincerely hope that I caught all of them. Should you find some nevertheless, go ahead and point them out so I can fix them.

Thanks in advance.

Acalanthis (2006-04-09)

**This doesn't mean anything – In good company**

He is sitting at that table all alone, which is nothing unusual – not for him in any case.

He's typing away on his laptop, a steaming mug of what she presumes to be hot coffee standing forgotten just within his reach, an annoyed scowl firmly in place. Her stomach flutters in nervous anticipation.

She knows all eyes are on her. She's been backed into a corner with no way out. It's not his fault, although he is the reason for her current predicament. She knew that her friends would not take kindly to a picture of them kissing before she agreed to doing it, but she had hoped.

_Which was so silly of me, considering everything: his constant competition with Yugi and Yami, his taunting of Jou and worst of all, who he is._

She should have known that they would not be as understanding as they expected her to be towards their own 'antics'. She'd tell them truth, but he has forbidden it. It is part of their contract. He will not be humiliated; will not have this charade unmasked by the taunts of her friends.

Now there she stands, her lunch clutched in one hand, her school bag in the other, and watches him write whatever it is he is writing. Isolated from her friends and their narrow-mindedness (Even if it doesn't mean anything, shouldn't I be able to choose where my heart lies without being abandoned by my friends? Even if it were to be lying with him?) she walks towards him, slowly, calmly, as if she were indeed used to walking up on him while he is engrossed in his work.

He notices a figure approaching and steels himself for the annoying giggling and squeaky whispers of whoever it is that claims to be part of his personal fan club – a club he'd love to get rid off sooner rather than later.

_Maybe this little tryst will take care of that, too._

"Do you mind?"

His head snaps up. He hadn't expected to hear that voice at all. She smiles at him timidly. He wants to send her away.

"No, of course not."

He watches her taking the seat next to him, leaving ample space between them. Nevertheless the wooden bench he's sitting on starts to feel impossibly small. He can feel the warmth of her body through his uniform (or so he thinks) and the sweet scent of her perfume tickles his nose pleasantly.

_Why isn't she with her friends?_

He watches her take out her lunch, a bowl of diced fruits over which she pours some yogurt. He isn't used to seeing her up close like that, isn't familiar with the concept of her doing anything other than being supportive of her friends (or supremely annoying). That has to be the reason why the mundane action of her eating lunch enraptures him so.

His eyes are glued to her lips; those pale pink crescent moons that haunt his every waking hour and torture him in his dreams. He remembers their taste, the feeling of brushing his own lips against her petal-soft ones and wonders what it would be like press his mouth to hers. Right now. In the middle of the cafeteria.

_What am I thinking,_ he scolds himself and forces his eyes back to his laptop. He needs to focus, but he finds her presence more than a little distracting. In his well-organized head a memory rises: the promise to ask her out. His brow furrows and he begins to type away on his laptop viciously.

She tilts her head ever so slightly, confused as to the sudden change in his demeanor. For some reason she wants to tell him to calm down, but the words die on her tongue. She tries not to think about how her mind has been a disarray of emotions and thoughts – one more surprising and confusing than the other.

She's slept, but only so much because her dreams are haunted. Unlike him, however, she can admit to being driven by her hormones. She considers that the emotional hassle she is currently dealing with might be the beginning of an infatuation, stemming from the fact that he gave her her first kiss.

_A girl never forgets her first kiss; not even when she's lying old and grey on her dying bed, right, grandma?_

She concedes that there are many good points to him: he is handsome which is an open secret; filthy rich which guarantees him headlines in the Monetary Times or Economics Illustrated on a regular basis; he's got a brilliant mind and most of the time either a good taste in clothes or enough common sense to hire someone who does. There is also a boatload of minus points for his more than frigid character, but nobody's perfect.

_No, that's not right. He did apologize to me that day. He also said thank you._

_That's manners_, a voice in her head replies. Surprisingly, it has a strong American accent (Brooklyn, she's been told) and sounds a lot like Jou.

She wants to respond by saying that he loves Mokuba, but fears the voice might counter by reminding her of Jou's obvious love for (any kind of) food.

He snorts in annoyance and for a brief moment she wonders why she's never seen him smile. She's seen him annoyed, bored and angry (plenty of times) and determined, too (although she never again wants to see that particular expression on his face), but never anything else other than that; she realizes this with a start and it bothers her.

_How much would his face change if he were to look sad?_

She doesn't dare picturing his face happy, lest she finds herself in love with a concoction of her own imagination.

He narrows his eyes at his laptop, clearly frustrated. She's more distracting than he ever imagined her to be. Although she's been sitting next to him in quiet contemplation for a good twenty minutes now, he cannot find it in him to concentrate on his work. He's irritated and makes to grab for his mug which now contains cold tea.

People have him pegged as a coffee-drinker, someone who depends on his daily dose of caffeine. But people are often wrong and although he insists on a cup of black coffee every morning his reasons for wanting it are completely different. Personally, though, he prefers tea. It brings him the luxury of serenity between all those hectic encounters that make up an average day of his life.

_The date. I still have to ask her for that date…_

"So…"

She looks at him, questioningly. He knows she won't decline his invitation and he is surprised to find that this knowledge is equally disturbing and comforting.

_This doesn't mean anything._

"What are your plans on… Friday?"

She blinks owlishly at him in obvious confusion. It's an expression that doesn't belong on her face although a quiet voice in his head reminds him that he used to think of her as the stereotypic cheerleader – a nice little package that comes with an ample bust, long shapely legs and little to no brains.

"I have dance classes until seven."

She pauses, looking thoughtfully at him. He knows she has it all figured out by now.

_You're not _that_ dumb._

Finally, she asks why.

"I was wondering if perhaps you would like to go out."

The additional "with me" goes unspoken. It's not needed. He watches her closely, waiting for her reply while his hands begin to clear away his belongings. Ten minutes left. She smiles one of those charmingly blinding smiles.

"I'd love to."

He wants to remind her that this doesn't mean anything. Badly.

"Pick me up at eight thirty?"

He shakes his head.

"I'll pick you up at nine."

He stands, closing his laptop without saving. His gaze drops to her. He cannot bring himself to take in their surroundings, knowing fully well that he just fed the rumor mill enough to last until next week.

She's still smiling, a smile that – if he didn't know any better – would convey the emotion of her being genuinely happy. He gives her a short, sharp nod then picks up his laptop and briefcase and leaves.

_This doesn't mean anything._


	4. Aftermath Part II

**Disclaimer: **I do not own or claim to own Yu-Gi-Oh! Or any characters and situations presented in the manga/anime. No profit is gained from the publishing of this story, no copyright infringement intended.

Should this story be deemed offensive by the creator, Mr. Takahashi, his solicitors or any of the (unsettling amount of) companies holding licenses to the series it shall be of course taken down without hesitation.

**A/N 1:** Here we go again. The second interlude and as promised, it is not Anzu but rather a male that Seto really can't stand. Alright so I lied; its two guys but Seto never acknowledged that, hehe.

Originally this was supposed to be only Yami Yugi's point of view but somehow, Yugi wormed his way into it, too; can't have one without the other after all.

Also I remember that some of you pointed out in their reviews that the actual plot is not very creative. You're right, it isn't. In fact it has been done several times already; probably also a whole lot better than this. I am fully aware of that (and not offended by your observation, in case you should worry), but let me ask you this:

How many romance novels or movies have you seen that have a totally original plot, something that hasn't been there ever before? Ad hoc I can name 3 novels, of which I consider 2 to be only semi-original since the general idea has been done before. Fact is, when writing love stories, there are only so many ways to get a girl and a boy together. Fact is also that you need a pretty good reason to force Seto Kaiba to spend more time than necessary with Anzu Mazaki and that, given the character's social position, tricking the media is a fairly effective tool for such a story (because I don't believe that Kaiba will awake one morning in his bed and find he simply cannot live without Anzu and sweeps her off her feet to elope and have a quick ceremony in a run-down wedding chapel in Vegas with some shady Sigfried and Roy doubles as their witnesses) starring the CEO and future dancer.

Another fact is also that I was not looking to present a creative plot: what I am trying to do is to show you bits and pieces of their minds (the way I envision it) and emotions while their relationship changes and whether that is a good thing or not remains to be seen.

I am not saying this to justify or defend this story, but because I want to be honest to you: should you be looking for something that is new and revolutionary, something with a plot you haven't seen yet, this story is not for you. Should you be content to read and explore the minds of the characters pictured (and maybe your own, you never know), then this might be the kind of story you've been looking for, provided you have been looking.

I'm saying this so it is understood what this story is and what not – I'd hate to disappoint you should you discover in the end that this was not what you thought it would be (but things rarely are).

That and I have no desire to receive a flame reading "you're so dumb for using an overused and boring plot like that and you can't even give it a new twist and why don't you quit writing entirely, you're only taking up data-space as it is" because… well I'm sure you can guess why.

To better understand who is speaking when, kindly remember that Yugi's parts are - due to technical limitations - in regular letters whereas Yami Yugi's (aka Mou Hitori no Yugi) are**bold**.As always _italics_ are the 'omnipotent narrator' putting in their two cents.

And herewith I end my ramblings and let you proceed to read the next chapter. Don't forget that any form of constructive criticism is appreciated and encouraged – I can only learn from my mistakes if someone points them out to me.

Thanks a lot

Acalanthis

* * *

**This doesn't mean anything – Aftermath; An Interlude**

**Part Two – Yugi Mutou and Mou Hitori no Yugi**

Her first kiss, bestowed upon him of all people, witnessed by the tabloids to document what they have found at last and to herald to the world that what they share is special. Which it isn't, isn't it?

**Her first kiss, stolen by him of all people, sold out to the tabloids as if it were nothing special. Which it is, isn't it?**

People fall in and out of love all the time. What should make it so special that for now, Seto Kaiba has found his other half in Anzu Mazaki – as she has likewise found hers in him.

**A kiss is more than lips touched to lips, more than the gentle pressure of warm flesh, more than ruby crescents parting like a gate to allow tongues to meet, to explore, to taste and to pleasure.**

The heart is a fickle thing, is it not? For now it might drift in and out of teenage love's hazy clouds, but eventually, the sky will clear.

**A kiss is not a hollow gesture: it is nothing to be given or taken lightly, nothing to be shared with someone who cannot appreciate its worth.**

Eventually, the heart will see that what it thought to have found was not there.

**No, a kiss is the most soul-appeasing of love's pleasures.**

Eventually, she'll return.

**A kiss is nourishment; it satiates the hunger lovers feel for one another, calms the raging fires of lust and desire yet ignites a whole different flame that for lack of a better word goes by the same name and which may only be satisfied with other, more physical nourishment. It is the introduction to love; the love woven between a man and a woman, the love that drives them to seek each other out and bask in the glory of one another, the love that forces their hands, bodies and minds to connect and does not allow them to separate.**

I cannot deny that her choice has hurt me. Nor will I try to convince anyone that I can understand it.

**A kiss, not mother's kiss placed tenderly on your forehead to chase away the monsters lurking in the shadows of your bedroom but the kiss offered by the one who makes your heart beat in heated rhythms reminiscent of wild horses chasing through the Sahara Desert, is the first step into adulthood.**

Because I can't.

**It is the awakening of the man sleeping within a boy; the rousing of the woman slumbering peacefully within a girl.**

I never believed she would fall in love with me over night, but I had hoped that maybe gradually, she would realize that she is my world and then, perhaps, she would try to let me be hers.

_It angers them to know that one of her greatest treasures has been wasted like that._

_It shouldn't have been _him_ collecting it._

_It should have been someone worthy, someone who could lose themselves in the beauty of her eyes or the sound of her laugh._

_Someone like – anyone, but _him

**But what is done is done; a broken mirror cannot be made to shine again (1), as my partner's grandfather is fond of saying. Her first kiss has been taken. Nothing I can do, say or feel will change that, unless I were to turn back the hands of time and find someone worthier to stand in his place.**

I never believed she would fall out of love with my partner over night, either, because as long as he had her heart, I was sure that there was also a chance for me to obtain a small part of it for myself.

_The image in their mind is painfully clear.  
They know perfectly well whom they would rather see by her side._

He hasn't given her any reason to seek the arms of another, just as he hasn't given her any reason to expect that some day soon, she might be able to rest in his.

**I thought I knew her well; no, I was certain I knew her well. After all, my knowledge of her is that of two persons: it's his and mine and between the two of us, there aren't many things she can keep hidden and even less things she can count on us not to notice. Still something must have slipped past us. She is a certain kind of girl – the kind that is driven and inspired – but not the kind that would indulge a man for the pleasure only. I know for a fact that he is not that kind of man, either. This sudden intimacy, this understanding between them, befell us rather abruptly.**

I thought I knew her well; no, I was certain I did. What I know about her is even more than what my partner knows and yet, he has come to see different sides of her, which I have never had the privilege to. But it appears, neither I nor he know her well enough. Else we might have been able to see this coming.

**I expected her to entrust her heart to someone eventually. It is only natural, after all, for a young woman to desire the feeling of being desired just as a young man sooner or later needs the feeling of being needed in the most carnal of ways.**

I knew she might fall in love with someone and I was somewhat relieved to find it was the other me that captured her interest. I could not compete with him, but without me he wouldn't have been able to be with her. So in a way, she would have to be with me in order to be with him. That would have been enough for me.

_He had resigned himself to loving her through him a long time ago, had accepted that she would look upon him with adoration and love in her eyes only, when she thought she was looking at his other half._

_He'd promised himself he'd be content with what little of her that he could have._

_He hadn't taken into consideration that she might decide to let someone else entirely into her heart; someone who wouldn't have to "share" her due to the fact that they depended on him._

_Someone who would keep her heart all for him self as greedily as he wanted to._

_Someone like Seto Kaiba._

**I… I can't… no. I didn't want to admit – ever- that part of me had wanted to be the one helping her to make that transition from girl to woman, wanted to make her feel desired. It was not my place and thus, I accepted the fact that Yugi would be the one by her side, the one she needed, seeing as this world is not mine and I am not meant to remain here.**

_Never before did he dare to formulate this admission, to let these thoughts reverberate through their shared soul, but neither does he deny the accusations echoing through his part of their mind._

_Yes, he loves her, just as he loves her. And yet, what makes his metaphysical heart beat faster are not innocent thoughts of holding her hand or gazing into her eyes._

_But he knows that what he wants and what he can have are two very different things entirely, even if he detests this fact and loathes his own understanding and acceptance of it._

**Yet I wonder…**

How did she fall in love with him?

**What is it she sees in him?**

How come he reciprocates her feelings?

**How did he manage to catch her, to entrap her?**

Have there been any signs I overlooked?

**Why him of all people?**

Did I…

**We.**

Did we,

**somehow, involuntarily**

pushed her away from us

**straight into his arms?**

Is it our fault?

**What if her hurts her? Her heart is not a trophy, yet he shamelessly presents her as his for the world to see. Her heart will not be mended easily once she realizes that she has been used.**

_Fear.  
Anger.  
They can do nothing to protect her of those specters they believe to be a threat; shadows that strike uncertainty even into his brave heart and his partner's unshakable trust in her._

Is he using her? Could it not be…

**entirely different? Is it perhaps that he has a hold over her through something of which we do not know?**

_Panic.  
Have they already failed as her protectors?_

What can we do?

**May the gods help me if that kiss was forced…**

No.

**No?**

May the gods help him if it was.

_Their hearts are set as are their minds.  
They know no regrets where she is concerned._

_But in a corner of their minds a gentle voice  
– it sounds like her –  
tells them that the damage is already done, that what held them together is starting to tear apart and that it is themselves who are doing the tearing._

_It beseeches them to trust in her and her judgment,  
the way they always did._

_They do not ignore it, yet they are not listening to it, either._

_Maybe they are lucky._

_Maybe he doesn't mean anything  
to her._

**

* * *

A/N 2:**

(1) A broken mirror cannot be made to shine again; The fallen blossom will not return to its branch – I found these when I got it in my head to use Japanese or rather pseudo-Japanese for a story of mine. I found this idiom by accident and somehow it got stuck in my head, which is why I used it instead of "no use crying over spilt milk", because I kind of like the imagery and the thought that the Spirit of the Puzzle might take over some figures of speech or speech patterns from those around him is kind of… amusing.

Some of you might wonder, after reading this, why I "had to" write it so that apparently both, Yugi and his darker half, seem to feel more then friendship for Anzu. The reasoning for this is very simple:

1. I agree with "Harry and Sally"; men and women can't just remain friends. Eventually, love WILL get in the way

and

2. I admit thatI'm a Revolutionshipper (Mou hitori no Yugi and Anzu) at heart. I concede that I have a strong liking for Azureshipping (it'll get you, too; just you wait), but it can't compete with YY x A in my book. Of course that means that it would be more beneficent for me to write something that was NOT a Seto x Anzu romance… but err... the muse bit me and I didn't get my vaccination yet.


	5. Entertainment Tonight

**Disclaimer: **I do not own or claim to own Yu-Gi-Oh! Or any characters and situations presented in the manga/anime. No profit is gained from the publishing of this story, no copyright infringement intended.

Should this story be deemed offensive by the creator, Mr. Takahashi, his solicitors or any of the (unsettling amount of) companies holding licenses to the series it shall be of course taken down without hesitation.

**A/N:** Another chapter. I hope you enjoy it and let me know if you.

Also, before I tune out for another infinite amount of time (getting updates done always takes some time for me since I'm easily side-tracked by other story ideas and I am in fact long overdue to update a Harry Potter fanfic posted under a different penname) I'd like to take the time to thank all of you who have taken the time to review this story or added it (or me, respectively) to their alert lists or favorites.

Knowing that there is someone out there who enjoys my writings is the best part about writing fanfiction. For me at least.

Much love,

Acalanthis

PS – As always any form of constructive criticism is greatly appreciated and encouraged. See a typo? Find an inconstancy I overlooked? Let me know. Got some time to (theoretically) beta-read a story that is updated once in a blue moon? Even better! Drop me a line or leave me your e-mail in your (not necessarily signed) review.

* * *

**This doesn't mean anything – Entertainment Tonight**

He is early.

He is anxious, too.

He's never told her where or how they are going to spend the evening and he has come to regret it: what if her choice of clothing is absolutely inappropriate? He's seen the way she dresses outside of school and although her 'style' is flattering, it wouldn't do much for his reputation.

He tries to get a grip on his nerves by telling himself that she has an impeccable fashion sense – unlike his brother who insists that those fluffy Blue Eyes White Dragon slippers, green duck-print boxers and worn Hawaii Shirt of his are "haute couture".

His worries about her outfit are dismissed as quickly as they have surfaced to be replaced by worries for his own appearance.

Because it had been aforementioned younger brother with also aforementioned doubtful fashion sense who had picked his clothes for tonight. No one would of course dare to belittle him –

_With the exception of her friends, perhaps –_

but the thought of not looking like people expect him to makes him slightly uncomfortable.

He is in public.

There are certain demands he has to meet.

A certain appearance that he has to maintain.

The car comes to a halt as he frowns accusingly at his wristwatch.

A quarter to nine.

The door is opened for him and he all but sweeps out of the vehicle, flowers in hand.

He's early, but he cannot wait any longer.

His step never falters, but his hands are sweaty and his insides are shaking; he tries to make himself belief that it's neither anticipation nor nerves but he cannot fool himself this time. He surprises himself with a single, uninvited realization:

_I want tonight to be enjoyable._

The shrill door bell draws him out of his thoughts and he shoots the hand which rang the bell without permission, a quick accusing glance. A female voice calls to him from the other side of the door; something about needing just one more minute.

He is surprised.

_Is she living on her own? How come? I never knew…_

The thought is cut short as the door opens and he comes face to face with Anzu Mazaki, dressed in a coffee-and-cream-colored cocktail dress, high-heeled brown sandals tied to her long, shapely legs and wrapped in a chocholate pashmina scarf, which falls in lose folds around her shoulders and neck, offering protection against the still pleasantly cool night air.

_She is…_

If she notices his sharp intake of breath, she doesn't show it.

Instead she apologizes for having kept him waiting, which in turn forces him to reluctantly apologize for being early.

He presents her with the bouquet of flowers containing purple agnus castus and amethysts in bloom, white garden anemones as well as some blue borage, several white candytufts and china pinks (who, as the name already indicates, are pink in color), but – much to her surprise –also holding some fern, yellow and orange garden marigold, red kennadia, ranunculus in several colors and a few xeranthemum in various shades of pink and red.

"No basil (1)?" she inquires jokingly.

He quirks an eyebrow at her soft remark.

_Figures she's familiar with things like that…_

She excuses herself and he can hear her rummaging though her kitchen as she searches for a vase to place the flowers in.

It takes her only a few moments, but to him it seems to take forever. The tremors he felt in his stomach before the door opened are nothing compared to those he is experiencing right now.

_Shouldn't it have gotten better instead of worse?_

She returns, offering him a shy smile, a demure purse clasped in her hands.

"Ready?"

"Of course."

She locks the door and turns to face him again. The jingling keys vanish into her purse as he offers her his arm.

_Manners. I knew you had them._

She smiles secretively as he leads her away. Together, they get into the car, his personal chauffeur navigating them safely throught the night.

Their ride is a quiet one, dominated by hidden glances and nervous hands picking imaginary lint from perfectly clean clothes.

_He seems… tense. More tense than usual. Because of… me?_

His eyes meet hers.

_Why is she looking at me like that?_

He ignores the voice in his head that asks him to elaborate and explain what exactly he means by 'like that'.

"So… you never told me where we are going."

"You never asked."

"I never had a chance."

Silence.

"You…"

"Yes?"

"You look beautiful tonight."

She smiles at him, but her eyes won't quite meet his. He curses himself.

_I knew this was a bad idea. I ruined it already. I shouldn't have said anything. I shouldn't have tried to keep up this charade. I shouldn't -_

"You are looking quite handsome yourself."

"I… thank you."

They lapse into silence again, which he finds regretful as her voice makes him forget how nervous he is.

"A Midsummer Night's Dream."

"Pardon?"

"You wanted to know where I am taking you. I'm taking you to see 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'. It premiers tonight."

Her hands, which had sat idle in her lap while he talked, frantically straighten her dress and scarf. Her eyes are wide with surprise and worry.

Just as she raises her hands to fix her hair (which doesn't need any fixing) it is caught in his.

"Relax. You look fine."

She looks at him, surprised. His hand is warm, his grip strong but gentle. Fire burns her skin where they touch and still she cannot suppress a shiver. She regrets the moment he realizes what he is doing and drops her hand.

"We aren't going to stay for the party afterwards, however. We have a dinner reservation once the play is over."

She wants to ask where, for fear she might have chosen the wrong dress after all (she got it for a cousin's wedding that never took place), but her vocal chords refuse their service.

The play, it turns out, is a mixture of modern life style,youth culture and classical Elizabethean theare, of bright flashy lights and traditional dance to modern music, of experiments with light and shadow, water and fabric, well balanced between Shakespeare's original text and slapstick.

They are enjoying themselves, although Anzu does not bother to hide her enjoyment the way her date does. Still every now and then she catches glimpses of tiny smiles that are even more beautiful than anything her mind could conjure on its own.

Dinner afterwards is a quiet affair and conversation is made strictly on the topic of the play and nothing else.

He can tell she finds this regretful and somehow, he isn't too happy with their conversation, either. He wants to ask her so many questions (stubbornly ignoring his own amazement for his sudden interest in her life), but forces himself to keep everything as neutral as possible without looking like two strangers playing a part. Even if that is exactly what they are.

_This doesn't mean anything._

All too soon, they find themselves back at the front step of her apartment. One of her hands clutches the pashmina scarf wrapped around her shoulders tightly, the other pushes back a few lose strands of hair.

She doesn't know what to say, not consciously, but her mouth (her uncontrollable mouththat feels indecently naked without his right now) forms the words nevertheless and she finds them to be true (unfortunately).

"Thank you."

He seems surprised, but she continues without missing a beat.

"I really had fun tonight. Even… even if it doesn't mean anything."

He mentally winces. He shouldn't have reminded her of that earlier in the car.

"You're welcome."

His voice is non-committal and casual – as casual as it can get. He wants to say more but then decides against it.

_This doesn't many anything._

Besides – she said it, not him.

Their eyes meet and although there is no one around to see it (or maybe because of it), although this is not a real date, he feels he has to end it properly.

Her eyes widen slightly as he cradles her face in his hands and leans down to touch his lips to hers in a gentle, brief kiss, startling her with its chaste andalmost shy nature.

"Good night."

"Good night."

He waits for her to unlock the door and step into the apartment before he turns around and stalks to his car.

_Whatever possessed me… -_

He gingerly touches his lips –

_to do something so stupid?_

He looks up, eyes locking with his reflection in the black glass window that separates him from his driver. Wide, blue eyes stare back at him from within a boyishly-flustered face.

He growls at his reflection.

_This doesn't mean anything._

He keeps repeating these words in his head, but still he fails to convince himself.

* * *

(1) The flowers used in the bouquet are supposed to convey a message.

The bouquet is meant to placate Seto's indifference and dislike towards Anzu (agnus castus, candytufts, china pinks), which stems among other things from her bluntness towards him (borage). But there is also an admission of fascination and admiration (courtesy of the fern and amethyst) for her mental and physical beauty (kennadia and ranunculus) as well as her ability to remain cheerful even under adversity. The fact that he finds something to be admirable and / or fascinating about Anzu makes Seto uneasy, hence the garden marigold was included. The garden anemones mean 'forsaken'; you tell me what Seto meant to say with these.

The basil Anzu mentioned means 'hatred' in the language of flowers.

Note I said that the flowers are 'supposed' to give a message – I'm not sure whether I 'translated' them correctly.

The flower meanings I used for reference are so to say the 'victorian version' and can be found at _World Wide Web Dot Apocalypse Dot Org _– go take a look at them. It's quite interesting, really.


	6. Call Me

**Disclaimer: **I do not own or claim to own Yu-Gi-Oh! Or any characters and situations presented in the manga/anime. No profit is gained from the publishing of this story, no copyright infringement intended.

Should this story be deemed offensive by the creator, Mr. Takahashi, his solicitors or any of the (unsettling amount of) companies holding licenses to the series it shall be of course taken down without hesitation.

**A/N:** Another chapter and a quite lengthy one, too. This will have to 'sustain' you for some time – see the bottom A/N for further information.

Also, I'd like to mention that 'This doesn't mean anything' is on 20 favorites lists (!), 17 alert lists and has so far received 41 reviews.

Yeah, you might think those numbers aren't that spectacular but let me tell you, every single one of those reviews, favorites and alerts made me smile and happy. That's 78 wide smiles and giddy dances in my living room and I thank you all for all those smiles you gave me.

As always, any form of constructive criticism is appreciated and encouraged.

And now… enjoy!

Love,

Acalanthis

* * *

_This chapter was beta read by **ILuvsBakura** – thank you for your support and your quick work.

* * *

_

**This doesn mean anything - Call Me**

He picks up the phone and begins to dial her number. Indecisively, his hand lingers and he places the receiver back on its cradle.

_No._

He forces his eyes back onto his computer screen, back to his vectors and graphs and to variables that would make his algebra teacher's head spin. He begins to type, but he finds his eyes drawn back to the telephone resting oh-so-innocently on his desk, tempting him with its siren song. He's never believed in magic or read a Superman comic, but right now he'd give everything to have a laser gaze just like the "Man Of Steel".

The telephone does neither falter nor combust spontaneously under his intense glare (which is a shame) sitting quite arrogantly on his desktop, the digital numbers of the integrated clock flashing at him tauntingly. He viciously wrenches his head away (_ouch - that was a little too fast_) only to have his gaze drop onto his mobile phone. The sleek, silver device is resting just within his reach at the corner of his desk, reflecting the light nicely.

_Maybe a text message would be appropriate... _

He reaches for the phone, regarding it thoughtfully for a moment. But what to write?

_Anzu, I had a nice evening and I hope you did too. Maybe you want to hang out some time? Give me a call, Seto _

No. That's not him.

_Mazaki - somehow you managed not to turn Friday night into a disaster. My compliments on learning how to behave like an adult in such a short amount of time. If you feel like showing off those newly acquired skills some more, let me know. Kaiba _

That's more like it, but that's also very likely to undo any leeway he's made with her so far.

_Leeway? What 'leeway'? Why would I even care?_

_But he knows.  
He knows and it can no longer be denied that although he's tried to convince himself that it doesn't mean anything, somehow things have spun out of control.  
It means something, he's absolutely certain of that.  
But he isn't too sure about what precisely that something might be._

He frowns at his mobile phone, as if it were the device's fault that he cannot find it in him to string the right words together.

_Besides, I don't even have her mobile phone number._

With a shrug, Seto Kaiba turns to his PC and resumes typing.

_Or do I?_

The part of him that is the focused and ambitious CEO helplessly flails its arms as the teenager in him - which used to be so sensible and allowed the CEO to do his work - gains control and he snatches his suit case from the file cabinet it's been resting on and begins to leaf through his school items. There, attached to his time table, is indeed a telephone list of his class and yes, it features her phone number (which he looked up online right after coming to the office), her mobile phone number and her e-mail address.

_E-Mail…_

He decides that he could write her an e-mail but the decision to do so does not make the words come any easier than before. In fact he can't even decide on how to address her.

_He keeps telling himself that he is not trying to accept whatever it is that is forming between them.  
It is an attempt to find out whether she feels it  
- it mustn't have a name yet - too.  
He needs to know.  
He does not take well to rejection; he doesn't bother to contemplate why that thought crossing his mind doesn't surprise him._

Much to his inner CEO's relief, he begins typing again, but his mind is elsewhere. He keeps messing up and eventually pushes himself away from his desk. He turns to the windows behind him, his index finger tapping against the armrest of his office chair as he stares out into the dark sky, barely noticing the many lights illuminating Domino City's skyline. He averts his eyes to look at his watch.

A quarter to eight. She's told him that dance practice usually ends at nine and that she's home by half past ten at the latest, but today is Tuesday and Tuesdays mean no dancing classes. So if she isn't with her friends - which is unlikely, given the most recent events - she should be at home. He glances at the telephone out of the corner of his eyes.

_It's not too late to call her, is it?_

Of course it isn't, he mentally berates himself, and even if it were, she wouldn't hang up on him. He pays her, after all.

_But I don't pay her for entertaining me on the phone... I don't pay her to be nice to Mokuba, either. _

He averts his gaze again. Much as he is loath to admit it, he knows that chances are nothing will come of this. The thought is both painful and disappointing. If he ever had a chance with her (a chance he never knew he wanted), he must have ruined it already by offering her money in exchange for her company. He snorts. It almost sounds as if she were a prostitute. His face pales as a sudden realization hits him.

_Does she... is she... she's not thinking I'm..._

He shakes his head to disperse the thought.

_No way. She knows I'm not like that._

The telephone beckons him once more and he finds it hard to resist any longer. He knows he won't get much work accomplished anytime soon and so he hits redial with a resigned sigh and dials the remaining digits he hadn't typed in before. He refuses to acknowledge the need to ensure that she understands that his offer was not meant like that.

The telephone rings a couple of times and his stomach clenches apprehensively.

_She's not home... I knew it._

"Mazaki residence."

He freezes and swallows hard. That deep, male voice can impossibly belong to Anzu Mazaki.

"Hello?"

He quickly disconnects, his mind reeling.

_A man. She's got another man at her apartment._

His shock is soon replaced by self-righteous anger.

_How dare she? How dare she admit another man into her apartment when she knows... _

Angrily, he hammers her phone number into the telephone. This time the telephone rings for a much shorter time.

"Mazaki residence. Hello?"

It's the male voice again. He grinds his teeth.

"I'd like to talk to Anzu Mazaki."

His tone is clipped, his anger almost palpable.

"Who is this?"

"None of your business."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said: none of your business. Are you hard of hearing?"

He can hear the receiver being roughly placed on some hard surface - probably wood - and someone calling for Anzu. There's some hushed, angry whispering and a lot of apologies coming from a new, decidedly female and much younger voice.

"This is Anzu Mazaki. How may I help you?"

"You could start with sticking to our contract."

"Kaiba?"

"Indeed."

There's a moment of silence and she imagines him glowering at her with a frown.

"I am sticking to our contract."

Her voice is quiet and calm and he can hear a door clicking shut.

"Right."

"Next time you call I'd appreciate it if you could be at least a little more polite to my father, though."

"Your... father?"

They fall into silence again. Her father. That man was her father.

_Fancy that._

"I thought you lived alone."

"I don't."

"You don't?"

"No, I live with my parents."

"Oh? So where were they when I came to fetch you on Friday evening?"

"In Osaka."

"Osaka?"

"That's what I said."

"That's what you said..."

His habit of echoing her words begins to unnerve her. It's not like him at all.

"Kaiba? Are you feeling alright?"

He stares out of the window, turning this new information over in his mind with uncharacteristic and childlike wonder.

"Yes, I'm alright."

_I think..._

"Um..."

Silence resurfaces, hovering between them like a demon. It conveys a million questions between them, but only one stands out, only one demands to be answered.

_Why is he calling?_

The silence grows tense as he prepares himself to cut through it. He says the first thing that comes to mind and finds it is a question (a single out of a multitude of questions he's longed to hear the answer for) that could very well end 'this', depending on just what exactly it would reveal.

"Why did you agree?"

His voice is quiet and calm, as if he doesn't trust the words not to turn traitor on him in the last possible moment.

"I beg your pardon?"

She is genuinely confused.

"Why did you agree to my proposition? Why are you posing as my girlfriend if you..."

_... if you could be Yugi's?_

"You needed someone to help you out, didn't you? And you asked me. It's the first time you asked anything from me, other than telling me to shut up. I owed it to you: if you had the strength to ask me for help, I should have the strength to lend it to you."

_Her argumentation puzzles him.  
Strength?  
Since when is there strength in asking for assistance?  
Is it not so... that only the weak ones are incapable of achieving their goals, or solving their problems, on their own?  
This is what he was taught.  
But dimly, somewhere in his mind, there's the memory of a woman with a gentle smile and long, black hair and a soothing voice that tells him that asking someone for help sometimes requires much more strength than stubbornly doing things on your own._

"Then why did you take my money?"

"Do you want it back?"

"What?"

"I said: Do you want it back?"

"No. But... why did you take it?"

"When you... hang on."

There are some muffled explanations, some shooing and arguing and finally he can hear the hand that previously covered the mouth piece of the receiver being lifted.

"I'm sorry... my father's too darn curious. Where were we?"

"I asked why you took my money."

"You were so... dead-set on keeping things all business, with the contract and all. I hope you remember that when I told you I didn't want anything in return you said..."

"Nonsense, everyone wants something. Yes, I remember."

Of course he remembers. He also remembers trying to squash any feelings of gratitude towards her.

_I needed the distance... I needed to keep things clean_

He wishes he could tell her that, that he could force the words out of himself (because they aren't showing any inclination of coming forward on their own anytime soon).

"Do your parents know?"

"That I'm being paid for occasionally showing up by your side?"

She hesitates to answer, then firmly responds with a resounding:

"No, they don't."

"Do you think they'd approve?"

"Unlikely."

"Unlikely or not at all?"

"Not at all."

"Then say so."

"They won't approve at all."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Her voice sounds amused. Come to think of it, this exchange had been sort of entertaining. He smirks a little.

"So do you want your money back?"

"I've got more than enough of it."

"This means?"

"No, I don't want my money back. It's yours."

There is another pause. Suddenly, before he can stop himself he asks another question. One, that was not on the list he previously (and unconsciously) composed before calling her.

"What are you going to do with it?"

"With what?"

"The money."

"I'm saving it."

He mentally calculates how much he's paid her so far and decides that it's not nearly enough to buy a fair-sized sports convertible. Actually, it's not even enough for a small one; will it be enough to pay for whichever dream she's saving it for?

"Got anything special in mind?"

"Juilliard."

_Juilliard? Why does that sound familiar?_

"Juilliard?"

"It's a dance school in New York City. I want to attend."

"You want to be a dancer?"

He sounds slightly incredulous and she pictures him making the same face her parents make when Anzu's future plans are discussed.

"My parents don't approve. They earn enough money to support me through my studies, but they refuse. They want me to pick up a 'real' job."

He nods his head. That does sound very sensible. It also sounds like what he told his younger brother when Mokuba had decided to become a pantomime rather than joining his brother in the 'family business'.

"I can see where they are coming from."

She sighs.

"So can I. For all that I want to dance, I am well aware of the risks. I know the chances of being employed somewhere in the chorus line are slim at best; major parts are even worse. And if I get injured..."

She trails off, but her voice is firm and full of confidence. She does not claim to be aware, he notes, she truly is aware.

"I'll need a second career, something to drop back on. Something other than waiting tables or ringing the register."

"Like modelling or acting?"

She chuckles softly.

"Either that or I'll have to learn how to turn iron into gold real quick."

He smirks.

"And here I was looking forward to renting out your first movie."

She laughs softly.

"So sorry to disappoint you."

"What sort of alternate career do you have in mind then?"

_Her pause is an uneasy one.  
She hasn't told anyone about this: neither her parents nor her friends know that she harbours this secondary dream.  
She knows he won't tell on her, but it doesn't ease her into telling him her secret.  
He is the first one to take her dream seriously.  
She doesn't want him to think any less of her once she tells him.  
Compared to her dream of becoming a dancer it is so... plain and mundane._

"Well?"

"Promise you won't laugh."

"I knew it... you're planning on being a singer, right?"

They share a laugh, both surprised to find out that he is indeed capable of good-natured teasing.

"No, I'm not. Promise me you won't laugh and I'll tell you."

"Very well. I promise not to laugh."

"And you can't tell anyone!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You can't tell anyone. You're the first person I'm telling but you can't spread the word."

"I won't."

_It's not like your friends will listen to me anyway._

"Alright. If I can't become a dancer, I want to..."

"Yes?"

"I want to be a kindergarten teacher instead."

Silence.

_Now that's unexpected..._

"Why a kindergarten teacher?"

He imagines her to blink surprisedly at the receiver while she ponders whether to share her reasoning with him or not.

"I want to... encourage children. I want to help them realize their strengths and talents. I want to teach them to pursue their dreams and to hone their skills, even if it takes years. I want to teach them the value of determination and of patience. I want to help them to find their way in life."

_His first reaction is to scoff.  
But once he thinks it over he realizes that this second career suits her rather well.  
He tries to imagine what life at the orphanage could have been like if someone like her had been there to encourage the children. Someone who brought warmth with her every step of the way and smiles radiant like the sun.  
He thinks about how he would like Mokuba's teachers to be (unsurprisingly the qualities he would prefer in them are influenced more so by his own parents' rather than Gozaburo's ideals) and decides that he very much likes the idea of her or someone alike her guiding his younger siblings' education._

Finally, he speaks.

"Why haven't you told anyone about this?"

"Isn't it obvious? My parents wouldn't be too happy with this career choice, either, but they'd push me to pursue it instead of dancing. They'd bring in Yugi and the others, too."

"What career would your parents like you to choose?"

"They want me to join their advertising agency of course."

"And your friends?"

She sighs heavily.

"They support me with me dancing, more or less. But I know they'd rather..."

She trails off and he realizes that she might be far more self-sustaining than he thought.

"They don't want me to leave."

_Her voice is quiet, dejected.  
He feels anger rise within him.  
He is an equal opportunity employer himself and even though he doesn't say it out loud, he does everything to ensure that talent receives every form of support necessary.  
It's in his own interest after all.  
He knows that she supports her friends unconditionally. The fact that they can't seem to do the same is an insult to her.  
He doesn't like that._

"Are you talented?"

"My dance instructor says I am."

"Have you got charisma, something to set you apart from everyone else?"

"Yes, I do."

"Are you driven?"

"I've been working on this for years, Kaiba. I've been taking odd jobs despite it being against school rules and I've saved just about every yen I've earned so I can go to New York and try out at Juillard."

He pauses.

"Are you willing to make sacrifices in order to achieve your dream?"

"Of course I am! What's with the twenty questions?"

There is another pause.

_For Mokuba being a pantomime was only a passing fancy.  
Something he saw on his way home from school or on TV and decided that it was a fun way of earning his living. Something he also lacked talent for because reamining silent for more than 5 minutes is an impossible task for him to accomplish.  
For Anzu, dancing is more, much more.  
Something even he can't put into words._

"In that case, the children will have to wait for someone else to support them."

"You mean..."

"I am not an expert on dancing or on anything concerning art and things like that. I'm a business man. When I conduct business there are three things that I always keep in mind. Number one: what is my goal? Number two: which resources are required to reach it? Number three: do I have what it takes to get there? You want to be a dancer. You have determination, drive, talent, charisma, a sensible head on your shoulders, a fair idea of the sacrifices you will have to make and a realistic alternative. There is nothing that will stop your from being a dancer. You have everything required to achieve your dream. Thus you will. I know you will."

_Did I just tell her that I believe in her?_

"I... ahm... thank you."

_No..._

He nods slowly.

_Does this mean..._

"It's late. I should probably let you go. You've got dance classes tomorrow, don't you?"

_It musn't..._

"Yes... yes I do but..."

_It can't..._

"Good night Anzu."

_But I want it to..._

"Good night... Seto."

_This doesn't mean anything...

* * *

_

**A/N 2:** As I already mentioned this chapter will have to sustain you for a while. That is because I'm taking my first real vacation in 13 years. A friend of mine, who lives in Georgia, is going to marry and she invited me over. I'll be in the States for an entire month (from May 13th to June 10th) helping to prepare the wedding (I'm the Maid of Honor/Horror) and having a blast.

Now in theory, if things had remained the way they were when I began writing this chapter, that would mean you'd have to wait a few weeks (an estimated 6) before I would have managed to bring out a new chapter plus an apology-chapter for keeping you waiting.

Unfortunately, there's more. Four years ago, my mother had breast cancer and recently the doctors have found metastases attached to her spine. They're putting pressure on the nerve cord within the spine and are dissolving the bones. It's been discovered at a fairly early stage, but it's there nevertheless and we don't know yet how treatment will affect my mother. Once I return from my vacation it is very likely that I won't have much time to write fanfiction or to upload it (mind, I won't stop entirely because I need this; it helps me to get rid of the day and all) so it might be a long time before I upload again.

I know you're all sensible persons and won't hold this against me (and if you do, well tough luck). I just figured you might like to know.

Acalanthis

PS – Everyone says it but believe me its true: we don't tell the people who are important to us nearly as often that we love them as we ought to. If I were you, I'd tell them. You never know what life might spring on them tomorrow and then those three little words might be just the thing they need.

Knowledge is power and to know that you're loved is far more important (and so much more powerful a knowledge) than anything you can learn from a book. Don't let people be ignorant of your love and friendship.


	7. Lies

**Disclaimer:** I do not own or claim to own Yu-Gi-Oh! Or any characters and situations presented in the manga/anime. No profit is gained from the publishing of this story, no copyright infringement intended. 

Should this story be deemed offensive by the creator, Mr. Takahashi, his solicitors or any of the (unsettling amount of) companies holding licenses to the series it shall be of course taken down without hesitation.

**A/N:** No, I'm not dead. And neither is my mom. I'm happy to say that we are all back on track (although it took us longer than anticipated to get there) and that life is slowly returning to normal. That means that I'll be updating my stories again.  
(No parades, please. .)

I'm quite giddy: I have been given the Yami Yugi X Anzu Mazaki pairing at 30kisses and I found a very interesting prompt list on live journal, too. Lots and lots of things for me to write but don't worry, I won't forget about this story, either.

Just go and read for yourself.

Love,  
Acalanthis

PS - I hade some trouble uploading this so the formating might be... off. I promise I'll see what I can do about it.

_This chapter was beta read by **ILuvsBakura!  
**Thank you for offering the time to help!_

**This doesn't mean anything - Lies**

The next time they meet is a little awkward and it's not because the memory of their nightly conversation still lingers or because there are people watching. There always are people watching where he is concerned and she knows that eventually, she will be moving into a similar spotlight. No, the awkwardness is due to another reason entirely.

It is because Mokuba is sitting between them.

Of course, he does not mean to create a barrier between them. He just wants to be a part of what they share.

_It's too soon._

And so their afternoon together - the first one without a script - is a true first date and it is awkward and emberassing and he wishes it were over already and he wishes it would never end.

_It's too soon, way too soon._

It is not a perfect date. Really.

They can't see the movie she wanted to see because Mokuba is too young. They can't see the movie he wanted to see for the same reason. And they can't see the movie Mokuba wants to see because they are all too young for that one, too.

They end up watching a Wilt Dasney movie. Their animations are vastly overestimated, he notes, and briefly he entertains the notion of entering the movie business until he remembers that he is on a date and that he promised not to think about work the entire afternoon.

_It's amazing how well she can read him after so little time spent together because she offers him the popcorn only after he shook his head to clean it of forbidden thoughts and casually states 'Back to funtime'._

Needless to say, the Dasney movie is almost sickeningly sweet, and in the end, the hero gets the girl. Naturally, Mokuba and Anzu love it. They chatter about it excitedly on their way back to the foyer, where they spend another 30 minutes looking at the posters and screenshots and reminding each other of their favorite scenes. They make an effort to involve him in their conversation, but he blocks them effortlessly.

"What was your favorite scene, Seto"

"The credits"

Anzu laughs.

_It is the first good thing about their date._

He wanted to take her to his favorite café, but with Mokuba tagging along other demands are more important.

They end up at the ice cream parlor and thereafter, his younger sibling drags them along to the arcade. They - meaning Mokuba and Anzu - play a few games against each other. Seto watches boredly. Except for when Anzu decides to beat the current high score at Footloose, a dance game with a stage. The flashy lights are meant to distract the dancer, but the brunette has enough routine to turn them into a part of her performance and he nods in approval: the game has nothing to do with her actual dancing skills (how could it?), but her presence is captivating and she makes the steps look effortless with a few gestures (a clap here, a flick of her wrist there).

_ Her dancing, eyes sparkling and hair flying, is the second thing about their date that he likes._

Mokuba tries his luck, too, but his score comes nowehere near 'Giselle', which is the name under which Anzu saved her new highscore.

And then Mokuba is gone, and in a flurry of unruly black hair, small arms around his waist and "I'll be home by curfew, promise!" his little brother is abducted by three other boys that attend school with him. And they are alone. He feels remotely bad for feeling so relieved. It's almost the third thing that makes this date worthwile. Almost.

_It's too sudden._

She likes the café, she says, and after they place their orders (plain green tea for him, white tea for her) they lapse into silence again because now the wall that accompanied Mokuba is no more but neither is sure whether the other is willing to acknowledge that. Naturally, she is the one to revive conversation.

"It was the first ballet I ever saw"

Her statement is met by his questioning eyes.

"Giselle. It was the first ballet I ever saw. I wanted to be like her... not Giselle, obviously, but the dancer. The way she moved"

His voice is quiet when he admits that he isn't familiar with the ballet, but the story of deceit and a love that transcends death is quickly told.

"Do you want to dance 'Giselle"

It sounds like an invitation but what he means of course is whether she wants to dance the part.

"I think everyone one wants to. It is one of the most difficult parts to dance"

She explains about the duality of the character, about the high level of difficulty and all the demands a dancer has to meet to be considered for the part. He assures her that he isn't faking interest for her sake and orders another round of tea for them. They spend the remainder of the day talking about the different ballets she'd like to perform one day, about the dancers she admires, the different types of dancing there are and somehow they manage to draw it all together in a manner that allows him to offer his opinion on a topic he normally wouldn't bother with.

Time flies and before he knows it, it is past eleven and they both realize that they have to go home to an empty house and a gloating younger sibling bursting with curiosity to know even the tiniest detail, respectively. He orders two more drinks to go - hot chocolate because it is not yet too warm for it - and they set off.

Strictly speaking, their walk takes a lot longer than it should have, but she doesn't want the night to end and neither does he. Still, the moment her front porch appears down the street comes too soon - because it means that their date is over.

_She stands with her back to the door and he remembers the first time they parted here, the first time the moonlight reflected off her eyes like that._

He promises not to say it this time. She opens her mouth to speak, but he hushes her, placing one finger on her lips.

"Don't say it"

His hand gently grasps hers.

"Why"

"It might be a lie"

His lips brush against her cheek softly and his warm breath - smelling of chocolate - tickles her just under the ear.

"Then... what does it mean"

He squeezes her hand slightly and then lets go, shaking his head.

"Good night"

_She calls after him, loudly, and her voice can be heard clearly in the dead of the night.  
But he doesn't turn around, doesn't acknowledge her question and the growing confusion inside.  
Because he knows he lied when he told her it didn't mean anything. She lied, too._

_Because his third favorite moment was when he squeezed her hand-  
and she squeezed back._


	8. Aftermath Part III

**Disclaimer: **I do not own or claim to own Yu-Gi-Oh! or any characters and situations presented in the manga/anime. No profit is gained from the publishing of this story, no copyright infringement intended.

Should this story be deemed offensive by the creator, Mr. Takahashi, his solicitors or any of the (unsettling amount of) companies holding licenses to the series it shall be of course taken down without hesitation.

**A/N:** So after three years, I have – finally – found what it was that bothered me when trying to finish this story. I am quite happy, that I am able to wrap this up. This update contains the last interlude as well as the final chapter. Originally, there was supposed to be an epilogue portraying Anzu's thoughts and feelings, but I am afraid that this won't happen. I do hope that the end, which I have written, does the rest of the story justice. I am very curious to see what you think.

As always, I am open and looking forward to your comments and constructive criticism.

Love,

Acalanthis

**This doesn't mean anything – Aftermath; an Interlude**

**Part Three – Mokuba **

Wikipedia says that 'business ethics' are a form of applied ethics that examine the ethical rules and principles within a commercial context. Translated this means that 'business ethics' are supposed to question the way a company earns its profits. People always claim that Seto doesn't have 'business ethics', because he does everything to further Kaiba Corporations' success.

Seto says people often don't think when they talk. He also says that people will try and say things about you that are untrue - deliberately - so that others will think badly about you and that you have to learn to shrug it off. He says that people are often wrong, and I think I agree with him although I do wonder whether no one's ever told them not to lie.

If Seto didn't have business ethics Kaiba Corp. were still the number one armaments manufacturer instead of the number one game's developer and distributor. So obviously, what people say about big brother's business ethics is wrong.

Wikipedia also says that a 'legal guardian' is a person who has the legal authority and duty to care for the personal and property interests of another person which cannot do it on their own because they're either too young, incapacitated or disabled. That person is called a 'ward' – funny word. Sounds like 'warts'.

It doesn't say anywhere that the legal guardian is supposed to love the ward. I guess that's a given.

People say Seto isn't ready to be my legal guardian; he's not yet 20 which means that he isn't an adult yet (1). They say he needs a guardian of his own but they don't know what they're talking about. Nor do they know big brother that well. Because most grown up's aren't nearly as smart as big brother is. And most of them don't even deserve half of my trust. My aunt and uncle taught me that. Seto says not to dwell on it – yeah, he does talk pretty funny sometimes but that is just him.

Kids at school tell me, that Seto is a 'cold fish'. Their older siblings told them. They say he makes an arctic winter look like a tropical summer when he's in a good mood. They say he never is in good mood, though. Sometimes they say really mean things; like that big brother's blood must run colder than ice water because he never looks twice at a girl. When they feel particularly mean they ask me what it does take to make him look twice and then they make one outrageous suggestion after another and it makes me sick.

I know that big brother can deal with all of this, because he told me so. He says he doesn't care what they say behind his back; he says that they're not worth my time if they can't even work up the courage to tell him that to his face. He says not to get worked up over it because it's jealousy and jealousy is childish and thus not noteworthy.

_Seto isn't bothered by the rumors or the fingers pointed in his direction but Mokuba is, obviously.  
He can't wrap his mind around the fact that someone who is generally pleasant to be with, like some of his friends in school, can be downright cruel towards another person and think it fun.  
He's tried a lot to shut them up and sometimes, he's successful._

Last month Yosuke told me that big brother couldn't get a girlfriend even if he paid someone to play the part. He shut up when he saw the photo. It's ironic though, because Anzu is with Seto only because he does just that. Pay her, I mean. It's sad, too, because that means that it doesn't mean anything, that Seto doesn't like Anzu like that at all (same for Anzu). It's all make-believe. Like an advertisement or a movie.

But…

I know I'm selfish but…

I do want it to be real. I do want it to be... more. I do want it to be something that makes big brother happy like he's been the past days because I can always tell when he's in a good mood even if he tries to hide it, which he hasn't been doing. Because it makes me happy to see big brother happy and to hear that people are jealous of him because he is seeing Anzu.

But I keep wondering… is wanting to keep all that wrong of me?

_Torn as he is, between wishing for happiness for his brother and happiness for someone, who has always shown him kindness and asked for nothing in return, Mokuba hates it.  
He hates, that it doesn't mean anything, because neither of them deserves that. What they deserve is infinitely more. _

(1) In Japan, you are legal once you reach the age of 20.


	9. Everything

**Disclaimer: **I do not own or claim to own Yu-Gi-Oh! or any characters and situations presented in the manga/anime. No profit is gained from the publishing of this story, no copyright infringement intended.

Should this story be deemed offensive by the creator, Mr. Takahashi, his solicitors or any of the (unsettling amount of) companies holding licenses to the series it shall be of course taken down without hesitation.

**A/N:** The last chapter – I do hope you enjoy it.

Love,

Acalanthis

**This doesn mean anything – Everything**

When she stepped into the dance studio, it was a sunny afternoon in late March. Sunlight flittered through tree branches, birds awoken by spring time sang their song, flowers stretched from the beds they were confined in to raise their petal-crowned heads towards the sun. Spring had come, finally, to wake nature with its ever fragrant, playful kisses and Anzu hated every moment of it.

_It is not fair, that the world should cherish and rejoice in the season of life, while she is slowly dying inside. After all, this – meaning them, him and her – doesn't mean anything._

She dances to every tune, to every beat, but her movements are off, her smile is forced. Her dance is not a welcome of life, but rather the mourning of its loss. Her instructor notices but does not comment. Art has always been like this.

_It didn't mean anything, right from the start. I shouldn't have…_

_But she knows she has as she had known she quite possibly would. Quickly and without a struggle she has fallen in love with him. Risks be damned, throwing caution to the wind and head over heels in love falling – including all those gruesome and cruel consequences that came with his rejection.  
He has called 'it' off. Their little agreement of him spending her time at his leisure is no more. She should have expected that – this day was bound to come eventually. She didn't.  
She hurts all the more for it, because a part of her had believed that there was a connection. A part had believed it would have meaning, even though he had told her it wouldn't.  
The pain she feels is no one's fault but her own. This doesn't mean anything and why should it?_

It is a fragile pain she dances, an agony so perfect that it is hatefully beautiful. The skies finally become aware of her sufferings. They send vicious rains accompanied by howling winds, ominously clapping thunder und malicious lightning to fork across the sky. The thunderstorm raging within her is mirrored by the one just outside the dance studio. She takes no notice as she dances because her mind is lost in every movement, as it always is.

_True to form and true to her heart, the lack of – for lack of better words – employment does not bother her as much as the lack of his company.  
She has come to enjoy his presence, to anticipate it and revel therein, as any girl in love would. She took solace from the fact that she could be by his side to admire and love him from physically up close, even if emotionally afar._

It is late in the evening, when her dance instructor finally manages to get through to her. So intense was her dancing, that she noticed neither the progress of the day nor that of the pain. For tonight, she has done enough damage. She throws away the pair of blood-stained socks, taking her time to bandage each toe individually.

_She has not cried – but her feet have. Tears they are, bloody ones.  
This doesn't mean anything, she knows and that knowledge mocks her._

Gingerly, she takes one step at a time down the stairs to the lobby of the dance studio, pausing ever so often. Her gaze does not wander across the room. It does not stop at the lounge area where someone – a man – sits, reading the Wall Street Gazette.

The newspaper, or rather its owner, speaks to her only, when she is within earshot.

"We need to talk."

_He is not surprised to see her eyes flash in indignation. He is not surprised, that it hurts him to see them so.  
This doesn't mean anything._

She stops, glaring at the Wall Street Gazette.

_Oh, this is rich…_

"I wouldn't know what about. You have made yourself very clear."

_Harsh words, just as harsh as the ones he used only yesterday. Words not meant for her._

"Have I? Then perhaps you did not fully grasp what it was I meant."

"It is of no importance, is it, Mr. Kaiba? This doesn't mean anything."

She bites out his name as if it were the vilest insult she could muster and then rubs his mistake into his face, for good measure.

_I probably deserved that._

She stalks towards the exit, never once slowing her pace although he knows that her feet must hurt. Although there is a thunderstorm outside and she is ill-equipped to face it. The Wall Street Gazette is unceremoniously dropped into a neighboring lounge chair and he follows. He has the advantage of perfectly rested feet that have not been danced bloody. Therefore he is level with her in just few, quick strides.

"I wish to talk to you. Decorum demands that you at least wait and listen!"

She does neither, violently wrenching the door open and steps into yet another storm. Of course, he follows suit.

_This doesn't mean anything?_

He grabs her arm, just above her ellbow.

_Will you listen now?_

"Anzu…"

"What is it you want from me now? Haven't I entertained you enough?"

_Anger. Hurt. His words were badly chosen. So was her timing._

"I want you to listen to me, Anzu. We are not yet done with each other."

"Done? Done?! Of course we are done! You no longer wish to spend time with me – I think that makes us very done, don't you?"

_And it hurts… you cold bastard, it hurts because I want to spend time with you so badly._

"I never said that!"

"Right. You yelled it!"

"It wasn't meant for you to hear in the first place and you wouldn't let me explain!"

"There was nothing that needed further explaining."

"_I am sick and tired of seeing her like that and having to pay for it! It's not worth it!"  
Those were his words, as they both know. And they stand off against each other, with the ghost of that shout hovering between them.  
They are in midst of storms and they do not care.  
This doesn't mean anything…_

"Yes, there was. What I meant was not, that I didn't want to see you again. What I meant was that I didn't want to force you to see _me_ because we had a contract of sorts!"

He all but screams it and a clap of thunder punctuates his angry shout with flourish.

_Then why didn't you take your money back when I offered it? Why didn't you answer me when I asked what it meant?_

She looks at him, levelly.

"What does it mean? Seto, what _does_ it mean? I need to know."

"Why?"

_But they both know why. It was stupid of him to even ask. He had needed, had wanted to know, too, badly. He hesitates.  
This is uncharted territory._

She makes a move to liberate her arm and he lets go only to latch onto her hand.

"At first, I thought it was a good idea. I thought it would take an edge off of all those stupid rumors. They've always bothered Mokuba. At the beginning, the idea did not include you specifically. I mentioned it in passing, fully expecting them to suggest someone else instead. I don't know why, but I said your name and they liked the idea so much that I could no longer back out. I thought you would refuse. You didn't. And then, eventually, I realized I didn't want it like that. I wasn't sure what I wanted; I only knew that I didn't want _that_."

His gaze finds hers.

"You asked what it meant and I didn't know how to answer you. I wasn't entirely sure whether it meant the same for both of us. So I decided to end our little charade. I meant to talk to you about it – but you overheard me telling my public relations director."

Her voice is quiet, barely a whisper and the storm calms down long enough to ensure, that he hears every syllable she speaks.

"I am asking you for the last time: _what does it mean, Seto_?"

_There is a note of urgency in her voice, a plea. It is, he realizes, his only chance.  
The one shot that can make or break whatever that is that is between them.  
This…_

An eternity passes within the blink of an eye and he answers.

"What it means? To me?"

There is no nod of encouragement, no flicker of hope. Only this guarded expression that tries to hide her hopes and fears. He answers with one word only.

"Everything."

The rain continues to drench them, drowning out the rest of the world and washing away the remnants of the storm that has been brewing between them ever since that first picture had been taken – or maybe even long before that.

This does, in fact, mean everything.

To both of them.


End file.
